


Scraps

by scioscribe



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dominance Struggle, F/F, Face-Sitting, Fighting Kink, Light Xeno, Rough Sex, Sex after fighting, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/pseuds/scioscribe
Summary: Val said, “Fight me, then.  Give me a decent match and I’ll help you find your parts.”





	Scraps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInKinkland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/gifts).



Usually if Valkyrie found a woman wandering around in the junk, she left her alone.  She didn’t need the memories washing up in her head as harsh as lye: oh, right, this was what it had felt like to grapple with one of her sisters, this was the same eye she’d always had for a woman’s muscles.  The takedowns and snatches went more smoothly when she had nothing else to compare them to.

But that day was blisteringly hot, and she was dangerously close to sober.  Every swallow of booze had been finishing off what the sun had started, making her warmer and dizzier by the minute.  Maybe there were places in the galaxy where that kind of thing wouldn’t kill you, but Sakaar wasn’t one of them.  Her stalking grounds were nothing but alkali flats and twisted, rusty shitheaps and other scrappers who’d be more than happy to see her bleed out somewhere.  And for some reason right then she felt more like living than dying, just by a bit.

So when she saw the blue-skinned woman picking her way through the garbage, Valkyrie tracked her.  Sober, she was bored out of her skull; she needed _something_ to do.

She’d been tailing her half an hour when Blue said, “I don’t like being circled.”  She had a low, gruff voice, a sound like an air compressor squeezing in and out.  She was sporting enhancements, a lot of them—more modded up than anybody Val had ever seen.

She didn’t like the freshness of things when she was clear-headed.  Staying drunk kept everything dingy; it didn’t prod her into even this kind of half-assed caring.

Still, she wove her way down through the rubble until they were face to face.  It felt that way, anyhow—Blue beat her height by a good six, seven inches, but she still managed to feel small, overlooked, breakable.

She was also missing an ear and a chunk of her left thigh.  The wounds were bloodless, pockets of screws and crystalline filaments and circuits.  Val put two and two together.

“You’re looking for replacement parts.”

“Do you think I’d come to this trash heap of a world if I didn’t need something?”

It was hard to think of slapping an obedience disc on her neck.  Val had no illusions she’d done the right thing once in these last few centuries, but it would feel even more wrong than usual to hijack what body Blue had left, to overpower the almost feverish willfulness in her eyes.  Besides, the Grandmaster wouldn’t have liked her.  Too rough somehow.

Val just said, “Sometimes people just come to get rid of things.”  Like memories.

“Clearly.”  Blue’s eyes swept their perimeter and Val saw a flicker behind them, some processor running behind her optic nerves.  “This is shit.”

“We don’t get a lot of med-tech.”  But they’d have some at the palace.  Nothing life-saving, just what they kept on hand for when the Contest of Champions threatened to get boring.  Give a man a chainsaw arm or a boar’s head or a metal scorpion’s tail.  It was none of her business, but she said, “I could rustle some up for you, for a price.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, you do.  What’s your name?”

A long, appraising look, and then finally, “Nebula.  And I don’t have any credits.”

“That’s too bad.”

Nebula’s mouth was a hard, flat line.  “You could give me the information I need, or I could kill you.  That’s one way of making a deal.”

“I’ve been threatened before.  I’m still here.”

“So am I.”  She sounded bitterly proud—Val’s life after Hela had been a long uninterrupted line of nothing, a slog of bloodless, joyless survival.  Her saying she was still around was just a fact.  Nebula growled it, like whether or not she lived was in contention and she was digging in her heels.

Val didn’t feel anything that strongly anymore, not for centuries now.  Fuck, it looked exhausting.  Nebula was chipped all over, like a damaged vase, missing bits of herself in divots and scrapes, more than just the damage Val had already noticed.  Scars and conductors and a fresh scab on her shoulder, in what had to be one of the few patches of natural skin she had left.

A better woman would have helped her out of compassion.  Even pity would have gotten the job done.

She’d scraped out the last of both of those things long ago and evaluating Nebula’s battered body hadn’t reawakened either.  But it had reawakened _something_.

Taut, well-honed muscles; swords that crested in women’s hands like waves on the ocean.  The familiar funk of sweat in the air.  Hard-worked bodies that sometimes yielded, right there on the training room floor, to sex that looked and felt like grappling and left them just as sore.  She’d been relying on her guns a lot lately.  Too much.  She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to live in her body the way she used to.  To even _use_ it the way she used to.

Val said, “Fight me, then.  Give me a decent match and I’ll help you find your parts.”

There was a small, delicate twitch in Nebula’s cheek, probably something malfunctioning; it irritated Val that she was taking this long to decide when that was the best offer she was ever going to get on Sakaar.

“Fine,” Nebula said at last.  “Weapons?’

Val shook her head.  “Bare-handed.  Rules?”

“Don’t die.  Not until you’ve told me where I can get the parts I need.”

“Fair enough.”

Some contest of champions they were having here, in an arena built up of trash even the lowliest pickers hadn’t found worth culling.  A washed-up Valkyrie with a wicked hangover and a falling-apart cyborg girl with shitty people skills.  It’d be hell on those splashy promos the Grandmaster liked to run.  There was nothing here that anybody else would want to see.

Not until they started seeing it, anyway.

She hadn’t lost her touch, not completely.  Her breath was coming faster sooner, and she could hear her sweat squeaking on her leathers, but sweet _fuck_ , she could still do this.  A trash slaver on a trash planet, and out-of-training, sure, but there was a sliver of Valkyrie gold still in her somewhere.  And as long as she kept moving, she didn’t have to think about how much she hated that.  Her body loved it, so she let her body steer.

She couldn’t beat Nebula’s reach but taking a couple of hits at least measured it for her, taught her how far back she had to step in dodging her blows.  Too far, she decided, to be effective.  She took the fight in close, where the size difference worked more in her favor, and pounded and kicked against Nebula’s stomach and chest and thighs.  Nebula hit her around her head, getting her punch-drunk, and at her shoulders until Val couldn’t raise her left arm as much.  They were both dripping blood.  Val’s knuckles were split, and she could feel two broken toes.

She finally got Nebula down on the ground, where sheer Asgardian body-density worked in her favor: she pinned her within seconds, holding Nebula in place with her thighs, leaning with her forearm against Nebula’s throat.  Nebula couldn’t knock her off-position; she gnashed her teeth in unmistakable fury and then headbutted Val as hard as she could.

The blow snapped Val’s head back and loosened her hold, letting Nebula escape, and it was the fucking obedience disc all over again, because Val didn’t want her trapped, not really.  Not with the rage it had provoked.  And she was done, she could feel it.  She pressed her hand to her forehead.

“It’s common courtesy not to headbutt a woman with a hangover.”

“I didn’t know you were hungover,” Nebula said.  “I thought you were still drunk.  You reek of booze.”  She stayed away, keeping exactly the distance needed to hit Val without Val being able to hit her back.  Her black eyes looked like chiseled obsidian points.  “Booze and arousal, now.”

She didn’t see any reason to deny either part of that.  “A good fight has that effect on me.”

“So it was a good fight.  You’ll keep your side of the deal.”

“Yeah.”  She found her emergency canteen and uncorked it, let tinny, lukewarm water trickle down her throat.  She passed it over to Nebula.  “here.  Drink.”

“It could be poisoned.”

“You just now saw me drink from it.”

“Maybe you’re immune.  Maybe you didn’t swallow it, and you just pretended to sip with your lips closed.”

“Maybe you’re thirsty and you should either shut the fuck up and have some water or give me back my canteen.”

Nebula regarded her for a moment and then said, “Poison’s a coward’s weapon, anyway,” and drank deeply.  There was a little ring of water shimmering on her lips when she handed the canteen back.  She said, “Battle arouses you.  That must be hard when you win and all that’s left are corpses.”

So she was funny now.  “I used to have fellow warriors.  Sisters-in-arms.”

“Sisters.”

“In arms.  We all wound up satisfied at the end of the war.”  Until they hadn’t.  She wanted a drink suddenly, a proper drink.  “Why are you asking?  You want me to bed you?  Reintroduce you to all my old traditions before I fit you up shiny and new?”

“I’m not shiny,” Nebula said.  She used her reach and Val let her—guard position and inside guard, one woman slotted between another’s thighs.  Intimate as an embrace.

Nebula was a bad kisser.  She tasted like copper and seemed to be trying to bruise Val with her mouth.  Luckily for her, Val didn’t need or want this to be good.  She wanted roughness, a continuation of the fight under different and less friendly terms.  No rules or guarantees.  She licked into Nebula’s mouth and Nebula pulled back from it and then bit her lip hard enough to make it throb.  Every other part of her was throbbing too, so it could join in.

She wanted Nebula on the ground, where she’d have the control, but when she tried to bear Nebula down, Nebula resisted it by roughly grabbing one of Val’s breasts.  Her leathers, her flexible armor—it all felt too thick right then, a shell that was only slowing her down.  Prison rather than protection.  She undid the hidden clasps and let it all tumble down, stood there with nothing on above the waist but the almost sheer shirt that served as an undergarment.  She could see her own skin through it.

“You want this off?” she said to Nebula, arching her eyebrows.  “Want to see my nipples?  Taste them?”

Nebula’s answer was nearly a snarl.  “Yes.”

Some instinct of self-preservation told her not to try for more skin than Nebula herself put on offer.  She didn’t know what was or wasn’t beneath Nebula’s armor, not as scarred and altered as she was, and she didn’t know what Nebula felt about it.  And she didn’t care, as long as Nebula let her fuck her, so she said, “Then we don’t do this standing up.”

Nebula’s lip curled.  “Fine.  Track the dirt of this place everywhere.”

She got Nebula down on her back before she straddled her, peeling off her shirt, reveling—a hot, dark joy like getting stabbed through the heart, nothing like fighting—in the way Nebula’s eyes fixed on her exposed breasts.  Val circled her own nipples lightly with her fingertips, playing with herself, and Nebula grabbed her shoulders and forced her down, knocking her hands away.  Nebula took one of Val’s nipples in her mouth and sucked on it, did it so hard that Val cried out.  She worked on getting her trousers off while still lying down.  She needed more skin, needed everything.

Nebula was brutal with the one breast and strangely tender with the other, giving her only the softest, sweetest caresses until Val fucking ached for a pinch there, a bite, a slap, something, so Nebula gave it to her.

Val knew she’d lost a point, so she took Nebula’s hand, pointed her fingers out like an arrow, and sank down on them, taking three at once into her soaked, needy cunt.

“No,” Nebula said, withdrawing, tracking Val’s wetness across her own stomach as she pulled her hand out and back.  “Not that one.  It’s not real.  This one.  I want to feel you.”

“I want to feel you too.”  She let Nebula push into her, three fingers again.  Indistinguishable from her end except for the look on Nebula’s face when she felt Val’s slick cunt squeeze tight around her.  That expression scorched her.  She was starting to feel like she wouldn’t get out of this alive; it would burn her up and she didn’t even care.

Nebula fucked her like that for a while, the sheer strength and unkindness of it almost irresistible, but Val kept looking her lips, thinking about Nebula drinking from her canteen, tasting the aftermath of Val’s mouth there.

She said, “I want to ride your face,” and dismounted from her hand only to sink down again.  Almost another pin, her thighs to either side of Nebula’s head and her cunt thrust against Nebula’s mouth, Nebula’s eager tongue, but this time it seemed all right.  Nebula was holding her hips and leaving bruises there, but licking her without pause, drowning in her.  Like she needed Val’s cunt more than she needed air.

The thought brought her to climax, a messier and more prolonged one than she’d had in years, her body stiff everywhere but her hips, which kept jerking, riding the orgasm out, rubbing her clit against Nebula’s mouth.

It left her raw but not exhausted.  She slid down and kissed Nebula’s mouth where she’d left it slick.

“What do you want?”  Her voice was husky.  “Tell me what you want.”

The idea of the question seemed new to Nebula.  “You.  Inside me.”

Val touched her at the hips, gently at first, and Nebula nodded breathlessly and let her strip her bare-legged and then just bare.

 _You’re pretty there,_ Val almost said.  She kept her mouth shut, but it was true.  Nebula had a close-trimmed triangle of what Val first took for hair—no, she saw upon closer examination, not quite.  It had grown in a little too thickly for that and touching it, even with a graze, wrung a guttural moan out of Nebula.  Val drew patterns on her, circles and hearts and squares, stroking the prickly little tendrils first one way and then the other, seeing which touch and shape got the best, most vocal response.

Nebula said, “I asked you to fuck me, not pet me.”  She sounded ragged: it was more plea than anything else.

Fine.  She was done with the soft touch anyhow—gentleness had never suited her.  Nebula proved to be as tight as she was wet.  Val kept it to two fingers, loving the knowledge that Nebula would hurt tomorrow even just from that.  Good.  Call it a memento: a sore cunt would last longer in the memory than whatever prosthetics and spare parts Val scrounged up for her.  A sore cunt and a good orgasm.  People had had worse legacies with one-time lovers.

Nebula came without making a sound.  If it hadn’t been for the contractions around her fingers, Val wouldn’t have even known.  She was willing to give her a second go, give her as much as she could stand, but Nebula was already dressing.  Her face was remote.

“I have to leave this planet,” Nebula said.

“I didn’t ask you to stay,” Val pointed out.  And she hadn’t and she wouldn’t have known what to do with even a regular lay, not at this point in her life, but she still felt a kind of malaise spreading through her.

The heat was on her mind again.  She was broiling with it.  She got dressed too, leaving her leathers a little loose so she’d at least get some breeze on her skin.

Fuck, she wanted a drink.  She needed to get back to her ship.

“You shouldn’t come with me,” she said.  “The people I’m going to be trading with, they’d grab you in a second.  Don’t think it’d be like this—they don’t fight fair.”  _They._ Like she wasn’t one of them.

“You could rob me,” Nebula said.

Always on the lookout for theft and poison.  For ways for someone to hurt her.

Any other day, Val would have been one of _them_ , one more hurt.  She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t been, even when her intentions had been good—better than usual, anyway.

Once, coming across someone in this kind of distress, Val would have gone down on one knee and sworn on her honor that she would offer protection.  The protection of the throne of Asgard and her own strength.  But the throne had proved corrupt and her strength had proved insufficient and Nebula didn’t her chivalry anyway.  The days of the Valkyries were done.  One scuffle in the sand didn’t change that.

But she had a scrap of herself left, even after all this time.  Some tattered bit of honor that let her say, truthfully, “I wouldn’t do that,” and somehow have Nebula actually believe her.

She drowned her regrets and misapprehensions on the way to get Nebula’s parts, but it didn’t quite work.  She still saw more than she wanted to see.  Little cruelties seemed to demand her attention.

She brought the gear back to Nebula, who tested it out and said it was poor quality, but it being poor quality didn’t seem to mean she was going to throw it out.  Val understood that concept.  Everything inside her felt faulty and threadbare, too.  But those bits were still working, maybe.  Sometimes.


End file.
